Vincent Street
by chunkimonki
Summary: An australian convict diary. What happened and the hard times. i guess its like a senario of shakespear, being pulled from loved ones and finding a whole new world. People who have read it have liked it, take their advice? please?
1. the begining

Christina Piasecka yr 9

24th March 1856

To my Diary,

I, Vincent Street, at the age of 26 years have decided to write a diary in hope that one of my family may find it or for it to be passed down through history so the generations to come know of how it was on the convict era of the Swan River colony.

My beginnings were simple and happy. I came from a family of carpenters. We owned a small poor business, run my older brother John Paul when our mother and father passed away. I was greatly saddened by this but things brightened up when I met Frances Blackwell. Frances was sixteen, at the time and I was only a year older. Thirteen months later, we married. Eight years later, we have two daughters, Sarah (6) and Emily (5), and one son, Thomas (3). The last time I saw them they were only 3, 2 and 5 months. May God be with them.

Steadily, things got from bad to worse. The family finally crashed when my brother became ill. We were all starving and our clothes resembled rags. It became too much for me and so one day I saw an opportunity to steal, which I quickly decided to take. May God have mercy on my soul. I was caught. Exhaustion and lack of food finally caught up. I passed out.

I woke up days after to be told I had been convicted, while I was unconscious, and I was to be transported to Australia for seven years. The blood drained from me all together. June 13th of 1854 was the worst day of my life. All for a loaf of bread and one pair of trousers.

The trip to Australia was terrible. We were cramped into tiny little cells. Perfect for disease to spread. Rat got into everything. Not a single convict washed, everything was unhygienic. There were clearly not enough supplies. I do not remember most of the trip. I became sick, from scurvy, and was at death's door nearly all the time. It must have been a sign from God. To make it through my sentence and get back home, to my family. That God forsaken trip lasted nine months.

When we, finally, reached the swan river we were all in high spirits. Maybe this was a new start. It was not to be so. There was barely enough food since the land was not fertile. It felt oddly like sand.

Everything was so dry and hot. To keep the convicts from escaping we were all chained together or to a large plough. Forced to work hard from dawn to dusk. Luckily, that is now in the past. Men who were skilled as traders were allowed to gain a ticket-of-leave. I, as a carpenter, requested a paid job but was ignored, by the marines. About six months later fortune decided to sway my way as I realised that a sqad of marines had replaced the original class. I took my chance and asked for a ticket-of-leave, as a carpenter. A small company who was looking for its tenth and final worker quickly snapped me up.

Maybe this place was not so bad after all. Maybe a little bit weird with it's odd looking trees which look like they don't even know what a drink is; occasionally, annoying because someone who has not committed a crime (free settler) hates you in an instant and won't even look you in the eye, but overall things are coming together and getting better. For now, I just pray that Frances, Sarah, Emily and Thomas are safe and alive.

Vincent Smith,

Of Manchester

SOSE and English


	2. Life goes on

Christina Piasecka yr 9

1st April 1856

To my diary,

It has been eight days since I last wrote. I was using those days to settle into work, to see what my master was like and how I would be treated my fellow workers. It seems to me that I am one of the better off convicts. I have only received one lashing and, apparently, got my ticket-of-leave far quicker then any other man my new acquaintances have ever heard of.

In some ways I am fortunate to get a boss like the one I have, but in other ways I am not. Master Peter is a very large man in his late 50's. He has no experience with carpentry, therefore, the convicts have tendency to tell him it will take a lot longer to make something then it actually does. I have told them that one day they will be caught out but one replied "Peter is the most ignorant, fat, boastful man you will ever meet. I could to of asked for a better boss." Needless to say, I was not surprised when I found out that Jack came from Canary Warf, in London.

The day after, I walked into the shed and started work on a table when Master Peter walked in and called up Peter and I. We were running low on wood and so it was up to us to go into town and but a new stock load.

It was not a quiet walk in the early in the morning. Many people were bustling around cleaning, chopping tree stumps, fixing roofs and so on. That and Jack would not keep his mouth shut. Jack reminds me of Sarah, my youngest daughter. She always want to play and if you don't she will follow you around and hold onto your trousers or skirt until you send her off or Emily comes and takes her hand and keeps her out of trouble. Jack does not hold onto your pants but he does nag.

"I could tell you were a proper chap 'n all. Ya look like ya came from a business tha' jus' fell bu' I don' think that ya stole anythin'. How'd ya come ta the swan river col? Ol chap." I did not reply because I was not listening. Actually, I was ten meters behind Jack and had stopped walking. I was concentrating on a conversation that was going on between two men.

Jack walked up to me. He did not look like he owned even a single brain cell but, contrary to what you might think, he is sharp. He knew exactly what I was doing even before he started walking towards me.

"Eavesdropin'?"

I quickly snapped out of my trance. "No! I… was just. Um, well… you see-" "S'all right. Ur secrets safe wif me." And he winked.

"Transportation must end! This place is a convict city in the making. If one wants a civilised town transportation has to some to an end." Came a loud voice. Jack and I snapped our heads around and started listening in.

"Just think about the convict's families. How lonely they must-" "I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THEIR FAMILIES." Roared the loud man over the soft-spoken man.

Too right. Transportation must end, I thought. Families are suffering. No one to look after the youngsters. Barely enough tradesmen to go around and just being related to a convict is a bad thing.

"Hope transporsomethin' does hav' ta end. Me half sis is wif twenty seven men a nigh' 'n she gonna get caught not too soon but I don' wan' her ter come ter this hell hole."

"Too right." Was all I could say.

Vincent Street,

Of Manchester

SOSE and English


	3. Better after worse

Christina Piasecka yr 9

8th April 1856

To my Diary,

It is not as bad in the Swan river coloney but the days pass so slowly. I have come to the conclusion that the cause of this problem is that I have no family to go home to. The closest thing I have to the family I have at home is Master Peter, the boys and Jack. I must say I have become quite fond of them all.

Today was quite a boring day. Boring by the standard of a convict who is within 100 miles of Jack and the boys. First we all wake at the break of dawn, get dressed and washed then leave for the shed, which is about ten meters away from the shelter where the employed convicts sleep.

We all prefer to sleep just outside the shelter because over time we have all become convinced that the shelter will crumble in a heartbeat. Some people even have bets on how long 'Ol Bessie will survive.

When we reach the shed Jack goes and retrieves the keys Master Peter plus anything we need to know. Today was a bit different as today Master Peter was coming to inspect our work. The boys could not help but snigger at this. Master Peter has no idea what a good piece of work is like and what a bad piece is like.

Master Peter walked in about midday and casually glanced at all our work. He was looking at Jack's work when I realised something. After Master Peter moved on I walked over and crouched in front of Jack

"Coming from Canary Warf, you don't actually know carpentry. Do you?" I questioned. "Ya the las' ta relise tha' bu' I'll give you credit for ya sharpenin' senses. When ya first came here ya were a blunt pencil." Replied Jack, with a glint in his eye.

I was not impressed by this but I was not given time to show it seeing Master Peter called me over to 'inspect' my work.

At first he looked at my table with his eyebrows screwed togeth, creating lines in the middle of his forehead. Then he made a couple of comments which did not really make sense since my table, which was, dare I say, quite well made, contradicted his words. Master Peter seemed to be oblivious to the sniggers and snorts in the background. Morons.

Usually, when Master Peter talks no one listens as they really can't be bothered. This is as he tends to just dribble on. On the other hand I was brought up to listen and be polite. It has been hammered into me and I do not feel the need to break this habit.

Master Peter had not much to say that was actually interesting. I started to doze off when I heard him say: "These pieces of furniture are coming together just like the coloney. In a metaphorical sense." This is true. But what caught even more of my attention was what he had to say next. "The farmland is well on it's way to doubling in size and the sheep have increased by three times the original number. You know, word is going around that transportation may stop! Some people are saying 6,000 convicts is enough for one city."

Meanwhile, I was just staring at Master Peter going over the information, in my head. All of it was so true. Things were progressing, yes, but what exactly what was happening I was not aware of.

Master Peter just had one thing left to say, which left me dumbstruck. It left left me dumbstruck being how these words came from the mouth of a free settler. " Just to think, this would not of happened if convicts had not been sent to New Holland." And with that he stood up, brushed himself and left.

I tell you now, Diary, that living in the early days of Perth was, in someways, the chance of a life time.

I wish to write more but due to a lack of paper this is the last dairy entry of I, Vincent Street.

Vincent Street Of Manchester

SOSE and English


End file.
